


He Reeleth With His Own Heart

by theladyscribe



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Boromir Lives, Crossover, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:28:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22513258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theladyscribe/pseuds/theladyscribe
Summary: Boromir had faced a Balrog, had fought off a hundred orcs single-handedly, had fallen to the Ring's thrall and been pulled from its sway, but this, his wedding, had him sweating through his underclothes. He said as much to Faramir, lounging on a settee and eating an apple, watching as Boromir was draped in the formal robes befitting a lord set to marry a queen.
Relationships: Boromir (Son of Denethor II) & Faramir (Son of Denethor II), Boromir (Son of Denethor II)/Susan Pevensie
Comments: 11
Kudos: 85
Collections: X-Ship - The Crossover Relationship Exchange 2019





	He Reeleth With His Own Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Meilan_Firaga](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meilan_Firaga/gifts).



> Title is from [The Wine of Love](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/50320/the-wine-of-love), by James Thomson (Bysshe Vanolis).

Boromir stood in his chambers, trying not to fidget as his man-servant finished dressing him. He shifted side to side. Arthad tutted but didn't say a word, only tugged at Boromir's belt, trying to keep it centered. Boromir reached up to adjust his eyepatch again. It never seemed to settle right, no matter what he did or how he wore it. Faramir told him he should go without it if it bothered him so much, but Boromir had seen the stares of those who had caught him without cover. His scars were gruesome, still angry red from the Orcs' poisoned weapons though it had been years since he fell at Sarn Gebir. Aragorn had done what he could, but the healers told him the marks would never fade completely. He hoped his new bride would not be too repulsed by them.

Boromir shook his head at himself, receiving an exasperated sigh from Arthad, who moved to reset the circlet atop his head. Boromir had faced a Balrog, had fought off a hundred orcs single-handedly, had fallen to the Ring's thrall and been pulled from its sway, but this, his wedding, had him sweating through his underclothes. He said as much to Faramir, lounging on a settee and eating an apple, watching as Boromir was draped in the formal robes befitting a lord set to marry a queen.

"Leave us," Boromir muttered to Arthad, who at least had the grace to attempt to hide his amusement. Unlike Faramir, who laughed aloud, the unhelpful sod.

"My brother, undone by a fair maiden," he said, tossing his apple aside and rising from his seat. "And father thought I was the soft one."

There was a time that his words would have been tinged with bitterness but now there was only humor. It had been five years since the battle of the Pelennor, and Faramir grew more joyous with each passing season. He and Éowyn already had two fair-haired children running amok in Ithilien and another on the way. They had been blessed and were a blessing, and Boromir would miss them dearly when he left for his new bride's home.

"I do wish father were here," Boromir said. "And mother, too."

Faramir nodded in agreement and came to stand in front of him. "Aye, would that they were. Here," he said, reaching into a pocket. "Elessar asked that I give you this to wear." He held out a silver brooch. Boromir brushed a finger over the familiar mallorn leaf pattern. 

"I thought it lost," he said in wonder. Faramir had told him that when he washed ashore in Osgiliath, he was half-naked and still bleeding from his myriad wounds. He had been near death, barely breathing, and it took two men they should not have spared to deliver him to the Houses of Healing in Minas Tirith. He had remained there, unconscious, through the Battle of the Pelennor and the stand at Cormallen, not waking until just days before the coronation of Elessar.

"I believe this one belongs to Elessar," Faramir said, stepping forward to pin it to Boromir's cloak. He stepped back again and studied him. "There. You at least won't frighten her off at first sight. You may still want to blow out the candles before you undress, though."

Boromir rolled his good eye. "Is that what Éowyn tells you to do when you wish to make love to her?" he asked.

"We make love at high noon with the windows open," Faramir said airily.

"And you've terrorized all of Osgiliath with the sight, no doubt!"

Again, Faramir laughed. "If we have, no one has dared to say so! But come, brother, the noon bell is near. We must go." He sobered a little. "You look noble and dashing. Queen Susan shall be well pleased, I've no doubt."

Boromir adjusted his cloak and pulled at his tabard rather than look his brother in the eye. It was not a love match for him -- he had never expected one, nor had he expected marriage at all -- but a political alliance with the kingdom of Narnia, far to the east. Once the marriage was consummated and the final treaty signed, he would be away to that far land. He felt ill at the thought that he might never return to Gondor, that he would grow old in Narnia and never see his brother or his homeland again.

Faramir cleared his throat, a reminder that they had somewhere to be.

"Come," Boromir said, mustering a smile. "It would not do to be late to my own wedding."

"No, it would not," Faramir answered, taking Boromir's arm and guiding him toward the door. The two brothers made for the great lawn, where the guests were gathered and waiting.

The ceremony was dull and overlong, with far more back-and-forth between Gondorian and Narnian traditions than Boromir felt was warranted. A political match required a certain amount of diplomacy and negotiation, but he hadn't realized how much of that would make it into the wedding itself. Faramir would chastise him for having ignored that part of the negotiations, but Boromir had been far more preoccupied with what would happen after, when he and his new bride would leave Gondor and build their life in Narnia. He'd barely given a thought to the wedding itself, save to give his consent to be married.

The dullness of the ceremony gave him time to study his bride. He had not spent much time with her outside of the trade and treaty negotiations, a fact he rued now that they stood together in front of the throng. Lady Susan was not as striking as Lady Arwen nor as gravely beautiful as Lady Galadriel had been, but she had a sharp wit and a strong will, both on display throughout the meetings he had attended. She reminded him of Éowyn, though less serious and more inclined to laughter. It was a good match, according to both Faramir and Elessar, and the Narnians had agreed.

As the orator droned on, Boromir became aware that Lady Susan studied him in kind. He wondered what she thought when she saw him: his scarred face, the grey in his beard, the weariness in his body and his soul. Their eyes locked, and Lady Susan gave him a tentative smile. Boromir returned it, and her smile deepened. After a moment, Boromir refocused on the orator, wondering how much longer they would have to stand there, hands fastened, and listen to the man extoll the virtues of two kingdoms united.

At long last, the orator finished and pronounced them married. Boromir stepped close and bent to kiss Lady Susan, a light brush of lips to seal their pact of union. They turned and faced the crowds before leading the throng to the great hall.

The feast that evening was more to Boromir's liking. They sat as the guests of honor next to Elessar and his queen, with the Narnian delegation beside them and Faramir and Éowyn nearby. The great tables were laden with all manner of foods: honey cakes and roast fowl, sweet mead and strong wine, cheeses and breads, fruit piled high and plates of vegetable pies. The great hall was packed with Men of Gondor and Elves and Dwarves and all manner of Talking Animals from Narnia. Had he been among the wedding guests and not at the high table, he might have found it overwhelming, but they were far enough removed that Boromir could enjoy the feast if not all of the attention it brought to him.

Boromir and his new bride spoke little during the meal, in part because the Narnian delegation seemed intent on standing up to give speeches extolling the virtues of not only Queen Susan the Gentle, but all of her siblings as well. He had heard the story of their battle against the White Witch, who had kept Narnia in endless winter and unable to join the fight against the lord of Mordor, but he'd not heard it in quite such excruciating detail. A Faun sang of the Pevensies' arrival in Narnia, followed by a Centaur whose recitation might have been a blessing or might have been a prophecy. The Centaur sat down and was replaced by a Badger, who gave an account of the great battle which ended in the White Witch's death. At the conclusion of the Badger's story, all the guests cheered, though some cheered that the telling was over more than that the White Witch had been defeated. Boromir noted that Faramir signaled for the musicians to begin playing before anyone else could offer a speech.

"I did not know that the Badger had such a hand in your victory," Boromir whispered to Lady Susan as the minstrels began a lively tune.

Lady Susan's eyes shone with laughter as she turned to him. "Nor I, my lord. I imagine few knew of his prowess in battle before this evening."

"You mean to tell me this is the first time you have heard the _Lay of Sir Badger_?" Boromir asked, matching her tone.

Lady Susan's smile widened. "I believe he has been saving it up for a special occasion." She leaned closer to him as the music swelled. "But come, my lord, how soon is too soon for us to take our leave this evening? I must admit all this pomp and ceremony wears at me."

"And at me as well, my lady," Boromir admitted. "I fear we must stay through at least one song, that we do not offend my countrymen. After that, we may escape as we wish, though I caution you that the earlier we leave the more rowdy may be the send-off."

Lady Susan laughed, high and clear. "No matter what time we leave, I imagine there will be plenty of tongues wagging and toasts to our good fortune. I know my companions well, and you no doubt know yours."

"'Tis true enough," Boromir said. "We may be away when this song ends, if you wish it."

"Perhaps two songs, my lord, so that we do not upset anyone with our farewell."

She turned from him again, but she did not move away. Her hand brushed his upon the table, and in a fit of madness, Boromir placed his fingers over hers. Again, she did not move away, but turned her hand and laced her fingers in his. Boromir glanced down at their clasped hands and then up, catching the eye of his brother who smiled and raised his glass to him. Boromir flushed but did not let himself unlink their hands.

They remained through three more songs before finally taking their leave of the wedding guests. As predicted, they were given a great and raucous send-off, the shouts of blessings and more ribald suggestions fading away as they left the hall.

Boromir led Lady Susan to his chambers. Their chambers now, he supposed, at least until they left for Narnia. Arthad and the other servants had been busy during the wedding, moving Lady Susan's things from the guest houses into Boromir's rooms. They were gone now, but they left the lanterns lit and a warm fire banked. A platter of fruit and a pitcher of mead sat on the table, though Boromir felt no desire for food now.

He took off his cloak and began to undo his belt and then remembered himself. He turned to Lady Susan. "May I help you with your robes?" he asked, faltering when he realized the question might seem brazen.

"There are buttons all down the back of this overdress," Lady Susan said, gesturing at her nape. She turned her back to him. "I can't reach any of them."

The buttons were tiny, and there had to be dozens of them. "Did the maker of this dress wish for you to never remove it?" he jested.

"Mrs. Beaver is a fine seamstress, and she wanted to show off," Susan said over her shoulder. "I think she forgot that the buttons wouldn't be seen under my veil and train, and that someone would eventually have to undo all of them."

Boromir didn't know what to say to that, so he focused on finishing his task. Once done, he stepped back. "There, my lady. You're free."

Lady Susan moved forward, tugging at the sleeves of the dress. She let it drop at her feet and stepped carefully out of it. The shift she'd worn underneath was of much simpler fabric: still well-made, but light and gauzy. The lamps behind her made shadows of her curves as she bent to pick up the dress, and Boromir looked away, embarrassed. When she had laid the dress across a chair, she looked up at him.

"Do you need assistance, my lord?"

"I can manage, thank you." He busied himself with his belt, casting it aside more carelessly than she had her dress. His tabard was formal, but loose, and it took little time to strip to the more comfortable layers of shirt and leggings.

When he had done, they stood and looked at each other, neither sure what to do with themselves. Boromir brushed his hand against his eyepatch without thinking about it. Lady Susan stepped toward him again.

"May I?" She reached for the cord which kept the patch securely fastened. Boromir wanted to tell her no, to warn her away from the gruesome sight of his missing eye, but she would see it eventually whether he willed it or no. Better to do so now than to catch either of them unawares. He undid the cord and let the patch fall away. Lady Susan frowned, tilting his head to catch the light. "They might have done the stitches a bit tidier," she said at last, "but the scarring seems to be fading, if quite slowly. A well-poisoned blade, no doubt. Does it ache?"

"It itches at times, though it may be due to this." He waved the patch.

She caught his hand and ran a finger over the fabric lining of the patch. "A different weave might pain you less. I will ask Lucy. She'll know what sort would be best on tender skin. And you must not treat me as glass, nor as if I were a delicate lady who may faint at the sight of a wound," she continued, seeking his gaze. "I have fought in battle and have seen all manner of horrors. Scars do not frighten me. They say only that you battled your foes and lived."

Boromir scoffed. "They say more than that, my lady. My scars -- they are a reminder of my failure." He pulled away and sat down on the couch near the fire. He stared at his hands. "I fell prey to the call of the Dark Lord and the false power he offered, and it nearly cost everything. My own life would have been small payment to make amends for what I did." Even now, it made him ill to think of what might have happened had he managed to take the Ring from Frodo at Amon Hen. He had spent much of the last five years dwelling on it, ashamed of his actions and unable to make amends.

"You should talk with Edmund about falling prey to darkness," Lady Susan said wryly. She sat beside him, close enough that Boromir could feel the rise and fall of her breath. She again touched his face, hand caressing his jaw. "But I tell you this: in Narnia, my siblings and I rule as one. We make laws, we judge disputes, we fight for our land, all as kings and queens of Narnia. We are partners, and we make decisions as equals. Yours is not the first kingdom to suggest an alliance with us, nor the first to ask for my hand. All of us agreed an alliance with Gondor would be good for Narnia and for our sister kingdom of Archenland, but it was left to me to agree to the terms set by your king. I came here knowing what I sought and both willing and able to walk away should King Elessar prove false or you to be an unsound match."

Boromir opened his mouth to protest, but Lady Susan pressed her fingers to his lips.

"I do not make decisions lightly, my lord, and I trust that you do not either. We are bound together now, for good or ill, and I hope to make a good life of our union. You speak as if you have suffered much, and I would ease your suffering if I may. I cannot promise you an easy life, for the life of no person is easy. Narnia was long in darkness, and though we rule it, we also work the land alongside our subjects. We build and plant and nurture as we can. That extends to the people around us as well as to our land."

She withdrew her fingers from his lips, but Boromir did not trust himself to speak. He thought of a conversation he'd had with Aragorn in the Houses of Healing, the evening before his coronation. They had sat on the balcony of Boromir's chambers in the Houses, sharing bread and wine and a pouch of pipeweed the ranger had snuck past the healers. The two of them had spoken in hushed tones for many hours, until well into the dark of night. They talked of many things: their journey south from Rivendell, the battles recently fought, and of their histories long before their paths had crossed. They spoke also of the future, of hope, and of plans for the kingdom in the new age. It was the first time Aragorn had spoken to Boromir of his plans for the future of Gondor and of his intention to forge an alliance with Narnia.

"You would send me away?" Boromir had asked, fighting a panic he had not expected. "Am I to be exiled?" He deserved it, but for Aragorn to put it so boldly and baldly to him had been a knife to his heart.

Aragorn shook his head and set down his pipe. "My friend, I would have you by my side always, but the healing you seek cannot be found in these halls. I thought perhaps to make you my emissary, to forge new alliances and bring new trade and tales of the lands that are beyond the eastern reach of Mordor. It would be a boon to me, and I hope it would be a boon and a balm to you, too."

Boromir had asked then for time to consider this request, and for time for his wounds to heal, and Aragorn had granted that time and more. The scars on his face, though perhaps forever raw with the ache of the Orcs' poison, had healed over, but those on his heart still felt fresh as the day they had been opened. Perhaps this new beginning would bring him some measure of peace. For the first time, the prospect of leaving Gondor to start anew did not seem quite so daunting nor so dreadful.

"My lord?" Lady Susan's voice drew him back to the present. "Have I upset you?"

"Boromir, my lady," he said, suddenly choked at her kindness. "I would ask that you call me by my given name."

"Then you must call me by mine, Boromir." She spoke his name carefully, as if testing it on her tongue.

Boromir nodded once, and took her hand in his. "As you wish, Susan." He kissed her palm, and her fingers flexed against his, holding him close.


End file.
